two am
by traversing
Summary: After a snowstorm makes her flight run late, Annabeth, without a way home, is stuck at an airport at two am. AU all human. tumblr prompt.


**A/N: from a prompt received on tumblr.**

* * *

"You're joking."

The man at the desk is not joking, of course, and Annabeth huffs in annoyance as he pleasantly gives her a receit for a replacement ticket and—once again—apologizes for the inconvenience.

She considers biting back with some snap, but quickly realizes that this man is certainly not to blame for the cancelled flight—that, she can pin on the temperamental northeast winter, which currently is expected to blow a huge storm in their direction in approximately ten to thirty minutes, as the one from further south in Pennsylvania has been consistently moving toward Manhattan since it began.

Sighing, Annabeth grips the dark strap of her duffel bag, and hoists it back over her shoulder. She moves to one of the hard, plastic seats available to other customers, but aside from herself, they're empty.

To avoid a cramped plane—and outrageous costs for the ticket—she'd chosen a flight for two o'clock in the morning for a flight out to the west coast, and as she's always done, she arrived two hours and a half early, and waited a large chunk of the time, just to be told that a particularly bitchy snowstorm was going to thwart her plans entirely.

She pulls out her phone—a ridiculously outdated model, but usable and, well, cheap—and presses one of the tiny buttons so that the small pixels that make up the time in the right hand corner light up—one seventeen, great. The numbers stamped on the little, translucent piece of paper she was given reveals that it's rescheduled for four thirty five, so Annabeth has quite a lot of time on her hands.

Her phone has no games, so that's out (and even if it did, it'd run the battery down almost instantaneously). She resolves to lay down for a quick cat nap on a rather hard bench, even though this'll ensure that she'll be irritably awake for the duration of the flight.

After calling her father to tell him that he'll need to pick her up later than planned, she switches off her phone and is finally drifting off into dreamland, her head resting on her carry on, when she feels an insistent tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me."

Annabeth peels one eye open—though she wishes she hadn't, because the fluorescent lights are so bright—and sees a man standing before her, finger poised as if he was thinking about touching her again.

"What?" She croaks.

He's about her age—maybe in his freshman year of college, too, but perhaps not—with raven black hair covered by a dark colored beanie, and tanned skin that can rival her own. Embarrassed, he scratches at a place behind his left ear as he mutters. "Well."

"Well?" Annabeth repeats.

"Well."

She furrows her eyebrows. "What did you want?"

"Um," he adjusts his hair underneath his hat. "My phone's dead, and I'm supposed to call some friends for them to pick me up, and I'm real sorry to wake you up even though I don't think you were sleeping, cause these chairs are seriously awful, even if you're on the bench, which might be—"

She cuts his rambling off, pawing around in her bag for her cell. "I get it. You need to use a phone, right?"

He nods furiously—definitely not in anyway adorably—and gratefully takes it in his palm.

Annabeth tried to go back to slumber, but now that it's interrupted, she can't muster that overwhelming tiredness from before. Instead, she takes the opportunity to observe the only other person in the vicinity, aside from the underpaid workers.

A few yards away, he's holding it to his ear, a wide grin gracing his face.

"Yeah, Mom. I—yeah, I'm just waiting it out. I'll call you when I get on the plane, if they'll let me—bye, Mom. Love you." He waits a moment before pressing the end key.

Annabeth finds a small smile worming it's way into her expression as he hands the phone back.

"Thanks," he says.

Annabeth bites her tongue, wanting to make a snarky remark about him being a momma's boy, before moving over to make room for him. When he looks at her quizzically, she motions for him to sit next to her. "We're the only ones here. I could use the company."

"No problem."

For a few minutes, they're in comfortable silence, both hovering on the edge of starting a conversation and remaining quiet.

Then, he speaks up. "I'm Percy, by the way. Don't think I introduced myself."

"You didn't." She pauses. "M'name's Annabeth."

"You headed to San Fransisco?"

"That's what they put on my ticket."The blonde deadpans.

Percy laughs. "Who're you visiting, then?"

"My dad—he moved there in December for a job." It's a bit of a sore topic for her, still. He seems to pick up on this, so he doesn't say anything else about it. "How about you?"

Percy explains that he's traveling to go see his friends from this summer camp he'd been to once—unfortunately, he hadn't been able to afford another year, but he still kept up with the other campers. She can understand that, so she shares that she'd practically grown up in one she's gone to since she was seven, out on the Long Island Sound.

They continue to talk about music, about colors they detest, about college —apparently he went to NYU as well, but it wasn't a surprise she hasn't met him before, considering the mass of students attending—and even about pizza topping.

"I don't know how you can't like olives."

"I don't know how you can." He shudders, his shaggy hair, which had escaped his beanie some time in the past half hour (and admittedly, makes him look even more attractive), brushes Annabeth's arm. She doesn't really remember when they got so close, but now she's sort of leaning onto him. And she's also covered in hair.

"Phhuh!" She sputters, teasingly. "You shed like a dog."

Percy glares at her, and she notices that he has this awesome pair of green eyes, sort of like the sea, in a way. "But I'm cuter, right?"

Forgoing an answer, Annabeth chuckles quietly, and turns to her phone. Two twenty one.

Percy, who had snuck a glance from over her shoulder, sighs dramatically. "Whatever will I do for the next two hours?"

At his antics, she finds herself shaking with laughter, even as she rests her head on his shoulder. It's probably grating on the nerves of worker across the linoleum, but she doesn't really care.

"Where do you think everyone else is?" She asks. It's weird, because even at two in the morning, there's usually at least a small congregation of people napping the time away.

He shrugs, making Annabeth shift in his movement. "Home, probably called a taxi or got a ride, come back later. No one wants to stay here anymore than they have to, especially so late."

"Wimps." She mutters against his shirt. "Then again, I'm not here by choice. Friend dropped me off, she's probably up in Massachussetts by now."

He nods. "My mom gave me a lift. She's working on her novel now, wouldn't want to interrupt her flow."

"And leave me behind," Annabeth teases.

She can't see his face because her eyelids are starting to fail her, slowly drooping down and refusing to be pulled back, but she thinks she sees a warm smile as he says, "Something like that."

Despite her stubborn insistence that she isn't tired each time he asks, Annabeth soon falls into a sort of place, somewhere between the realm of the living, and the dead, hovering on the verge of consciousness, but still enjoying the feeling of slumber.

Percy, on the other hand, is wide awake, having gotten a coffee an hour or so ago. In the time between when she, well, passed out, and now, she had burrowed her head further into the crick of his neck, as if trying to find a place to settle. One of his own arms, completely of their own violation, wound its way around her waist, pulling Annabeth closer. Sure, this means that her blond curls, that she'd been trying to hold back in a sloppy ponytail but apparently have minds of their own, tickle his cheek, but it also means that he notices her scent - lemon shampoo - without looking like a creep.

Well, maybe he still did.

He stays like that for awhile, breathing in citrus and drifting off himself, and wishes it could last forever —even if he's just met her—before the pristine moment is interrupted by a buzz.

Annabeth jumps awake— damn, she's a light sleeper—immediately breaking away from him to check her phone. She sighs. "Four o'clock."

Confused, Percy tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"We don't have too long until boarding." She grins, somehow still gorgeous, with mussy hair and tired eyes. Annabeth stretches, then stands, offering her hand to him.

"Wanna get breakfast?" He asks impulsively.

Annabeth laughs. "This early?"

"It is morning, isn't it?"

She scrunches up her nose, but quietly agrees—plane food sucks anyway. They make their way to one of the airport McDonald's, which is thankfully open, and split an order of hotcakes and it's nice—even if Annabeth puts way too much syrup on it for his taste.

They exchange numbers, but Percy will be at the mercy of the blond until he can charge his cell phone, and then, right before they board, he suggests meeting up after.

"I'm gonna be in Frisco for a couple weeks, and I was just wondering—"

Annabeth grins. "Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

As it turns out, they don't meet up after their arrival in the foggy city quite like they planned.

Whether it be her fault or his, Percy's disappointed all the same. In fact, it takes four days for him to even muster up the courage to talk to her, and even then, it takes another few hours to get a reply—a simple, typed "hey" that he refuses to admit makes his heart flutter erratically.

Over the next week, they text on and off, suggesting places they could meet up—maybe the bookstore around the corner from Annabeth's father's house, or the park right across from his old summer camp?—but they always seem to have something to conflict with it, from friends asking him to go to a under twenty one club, or a family outing she's dragged to.

So he's definitely not expecting to run into her in the laundry room downstairs at his friend's apartment—especially when he's toting around a basket full of delicates and other unmentionables.

Annabeth laughs into the phone at her ear, her back to him as she kneels down to the drying machine, opening its small metal door.

"Yeah, Jason, can't wait to get back—sorry, 'aven't had the time, been slammed—yeah, I know." She pauses, and shifts her Blackberry to the crick of her neck so she can pull out her now, assumably, warm clothes.

Of course, Percy takes this moment to drop his own, and cringes as it makes a heavy thud. Annabeth turns around quickly, probably giving herself whiplash.

His cheeks grow hot as he drops to the ground, hurriedly putting everything back into the basket again.

However, Annabeth, to the person—Jason—on the other end of the line, says, "Call you back later," then clicks it off and moves to help him instead.

Percy doesn't look at her now, afraid that she'll acknowledge the increasing blush that he's sure is there.

"Girlfriend's?" She asks, with a certain inflection in her voice—jealousy?—but he isn't sure what she's talking about until she gestures to a pair of rose boy-shorts—Hazel's. He'd "volunteered" to do the laundry for the whole apartment, though it was definitely not of his own will, and that included his friend's lady friend.

He chuckles, and once all the pieces are back in place, tugs his beanie over his ears, hoping to cover up the scarlet there. "No, my friend, Frank's, girl. I, um, ah, well—"

"Got stuck with it?" Annabeth fills in, cutting off his stammering, and saving him from further embarrassment.

He nods.

"What are you doing here?"

She smiles bitterly. "Dad kicked me out. Staying with a friend."

Percy doesn't know what to say, but suddenly, a blond curl falls in front of her face, obscuring the view of her eyes, so he leans forward to tuck the lock of hair behind her ear. "Why?"

"Something about how I disrupt the flow of the family." She seems to brush it off, turning again to her clothes, and hoisting her basket onto her hip as she stands.

He scrunches his eyebrows. "What floor are you on?"

"Fourth."

Percy says that he's on the fifth, and that he would gladly walk her back up if she hung around long enough for him to put his clothes in the washer—to which she retorts that she doesn't need an escort, but she ends up on top of the dryer, listening to him as he grumbles on the misfortunes of washing clothes that he doesn't want to touch.

Swinging her legs, she laughs as he tells her about the friend who he's visiting—this utterly sweet guy, with an affinity for animals and archery.

He asks who she's staying with—Jason, perhaps? Annabeth shakes her head, and says something about her friend Silena, a dark haired beauty he might have seen in the halls before (though, if you ask him, has nothing on Annabeth).

After he prompts again about Jason—a boyfriend back in New York?—she gently punches his arm and reveals that no, he's more a brother than anything.

"Met him at that summer camp, actually. He was supposed to go to one here, I think, but his mom messed up and he ended up going to the same one as his sister," she explains, then scrunches up her nose. "Why? You up for the position?"

Percy's face is probably—no, definitely—flushed, but he smiles softly. "Yeah, maybe."

He's finished loading the underwear, and is just putting in the soap, closing the hatch. His gaze diverts from that to the girl sitting less than a foot away, and his heart stops.

"Yeah?" She repeats, and he can see her eyes so detailed now, up close. They're this gorgeous gray, with tiny flecks of black circling her iris. He's leaning in, or maybe they both are, and he's wondering how her lips are going to feel because they definitely look plush, a pigment akin to cotton candy, and oh so kissable—

"Excuse me!"

—and maybe Percy's just out of luck, as they both pull back to look at the newcomer, Linda Ackerman.

Apparently, from what he's heard around the complex, is that she's a total Ms. Grundy of a woman, won't wear anything that doesn't cover her neck, elbows, and calves. And that's definitely an accurate description, as he comes to think of it. She doesn't even have any laundry, so he's beginning to think she just lurks in the shadows, waiting for an unsuspecting duo to "try something."

Annabeth narrows her eyes, but lifts herself off of the machine and to the floor. "Sorry, ma'am." She glances over at Percy. "He was just about to walk me back to my room."

Latching onto his wrist, she half-drags him out the door and up the stairs leading to the next floor.

She doesn't let go of his hand when they reach the off-white entrance to the corridor—even if they're going a few more flights—and he even offers to carry her clothes, to which she adamantly refuses, saying that she can do it herself.

"Anyway, you'd probably drop them," Annabeth teases.

The boy in front of her—the gorgeous hair covered by his hair—sticks out his lip, pouting. "Hey!"

Without a second thought, she surges forward, and presses her own—

—to his cheek.

Then proceeds to climb up the steps, to her temporary home, and doesn't acknowledge that she's done anything out of the ordinary. Percy moves slower, rubbing his flaming cheek with a sort of daze clouding his thoughts.

He decides not to mention it when he catches up, because he, personally, likes to wait for the instigator to begin these kinds of conversations.

Except, well, she doesn't. They get to her door—relatively clean compared to the rest of the complex—and stand together awkwardly, for a moment. Then Annabeth flicks her eyes to inside.

"I, uh, am gonna go put this up." She says, but doesn't move a muscle.

Percy doesn't think—he never does, really—and on impulse puts his hand underneath her chin, holding her head up as he kisses her hard.

She must've dropped her basket—he makes a mental note to tease her about that later—because she reciprocates enthusiastically, winding her arms around his neck and standing on the very tips of her toes to match his height.

His palms move to her waist, gripping her tightly, and he's pressing her into the door, pressing himself into her, and oh my Lord this is a great feeling and he—

Suddenly, their bodies pitch forward—or, perhaps, hers goes backwards—into the doorway. There isn't a door there anymore, and now they're on the ground, Annabeth below him. In all this mess, they've unfortunately broken apart, both of their faces flushed.

"Against the door, huh? Classy, babe."

A girl, maybe a few years older, stands with her arms crossed, but a sort of twinkle in her blue eyes.

Underneath him, Annabeth smiles sheepishly, and squirms out of his grasp, then extends a helping hand for him to take. She turns to the girl once they're both upright. "Sorry, Silena, we were just—"

"I get the gist. Is this Percy?"

"Yeah."

;;

Over the course of the next two weeks, the pair take to meeting up inconsistently, usually starting as a jaunt through the park, or sipping at a milkshake with two straws—cliche yes, but who really cares?—and ending, invariably, with Annabeth pushed up against some wall—or bench, in the park case—and his lips hot on her neck.


End file.
